


Perfectly Mad

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Avengers (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Cap! Steve, F/M, M/M, Modern Bucky, Oral Sex, Soldier Bucky, Stucky - Freeform, past relationships for Steve mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23222356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: Whoever had decided to seat Steve beside Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes - eldest son of President Winifred Barnes, war hero, recently returned from a three month stay as a hostage of an offshoot of the same terrorist group that had once held Tony Stark - was clearly an idiot.Actually, in Steve’s opinion, whoever had thought Barnes attending the dinner at all was an idiot.Whoever had thought inviting Steve to the dinner was an idiot.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 52
Kudos: 557





	Perfectly Mad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luvsanime02](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvsanime02/gifts).



> Now beta read by the amazing Ro!

Whoever had decided to seat Steve beside Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes - eldest son of President Winifred Barnes, war hero, recently returned from a three-month stay as a hostage of an offshoot of the same terrorist group that had once held Tony Stark - was clearly an idiot.

Actually, in Steve’s opinion, whoever had thought of Barnes attending the dinner at  _ all _ was an idiot. 

Whoever had thought inviting  _ Steve _ to the dinner was an idiot.

Steve Rogers just wasn’t… fit company for political society. Hadn’t been back when he was pressed into the War Bonds tour and hadn’t been since being recovered from the Arctic. Hadn’t been before then, either, of course, but  _ before _ he became Captain America, no one would have wanted him attending a dinner of any kind.

The problem wasn’t necessarily Barnes. Well, it wasn’t  _ entirely _ Barnes.

But Steve had read the reports, provided by Natasha when Steve had grudgingly accepted the invitation to dine at the White House. Barnes had been back stateside for two weeks, had been in Germany for a nearly twenty days before that, and had, again, been the hostage of brutal terrorists for three months before that.

He was pale, thin and dead-eyed as he sat next to Steve. For all that he was cleaned up  _ very _ well, with his too-long hair clean and tucked behind his ears, sharp jaw clean and body draped with a dark, expensive and well-cut suit, Barnes was clearly not okay. Clearly not even really  _ present _ .

Steve, for all that he didn’t want to, understood enough about political machinations to know that attending this dinner - ‘intimate, for close friends and family’ - was a way to keep President Barnes and her party - and really, the entire government - out of the Avengers’ business. His attendance was a coup for Barnes, whose close friends and family apparently included her political rivals, as well as her most well-known surrogates and her two children.

Rebecca Barnes was a pre-law student at Georgetown, lived at the White House, and showed every sign of following in her mother’s footsteps.

James Barnes, on the other hand, had spent his life eschewing the public eye that came from being the son of the Mayor of New York City, then the Governor of New York, and now the President of the United States.

It grated on Steve that the kid was just back from hell and was being trotted out like a political pawn, just as much if not more than Steve was.

And someone had thought it was wise to seat Barnes  _ beside Steve. _

Barnes, who was silent during the entire damn meal, even when anyone attempted conversation with him, and who picked at his food and sat ramrod straight in his seat, as though he was at parade rest even seated.

It wasn’t until the meticulously unobtrusive serving staff cleared away their dinner plates and prepared to bring out dessert that Barnes leaned over towards Steve.

For a second, Steve was convinced that Barnes was on the verge of passing out or falling, so he reached for Barnes’s shoulder to steady him.

But Barnes just leaned closer, practically tucked against Steve’s side, and his lips brushed against Steve’s ear as he whispered.

“Any chance I can convince you to come back to my room and blow me?”

Steve wasn’t sure what shocked him more.

The rough, pleasant drawl of Barnes’s voice or the words themselves.

Or, when Steve leaned back and stared, the crooked smirk on Barnes’s dark, full lips.

Blood rushed to Steve’s face and to his dick.

Because he wasn’t dead and he wasn’t a saint.

Even now, Barnes was an intimidatingly attractive man. The photographs Steve had seen of him before - in uniform or out of it - had been damn-near haunting.

And.

And maybe Steve had a type. Dangerous, confident brunet(te)s who went after what they wanted.

But Steve also wasn’t a total idiot.

The President’s son didn’t go around propositioning defrosted supersoldiers during important political dinners. Not unless it was a cruel prank or said son was  _ recovering from being held hostage for three months. _

When Sam had moved to the Tower last year, he had not so subtly gifted every single Avenger  _ The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind and Body in the Healing of Trauma _ .

It hadn’t inspired Steve to start going to therapy, as Sam had recommended on several occasions, but it had given him reason and even some tools to reflect on himself and his team. 

And it was all too easy to see that Barnes was… struggling with his trauma.

There must have been something in Steve’s expression that gave away his thoughts, because Barnes’ smirk twisted into a scowl and he leaned close again.

“Forget it. I’m not looking for any favors, and I don’t need a pity fuck.”

After that, Barnes went back to his military straight posture, and Steve’s attention was commandeered by a senator at the opposite end of the table.

Dessert was slow and painful, for all that it was delicious - some kind of cranberry streusel something - but even after the plates were cleared away, even after coffee was served and drank, the rest of the party didn’t seem all that eager to break up.

Until Barnes finally got to his feet, wincing and stiff, not quite scowling but definitely looking anything but happy or comfortable.

Immediately, all eyes focused on him.

“My apologies, but I’m going to have to call it a night.” He directed his words to his mother but let his quicksilver gaze drift over the assembled guests. He might have made a point of avoiding the spotlight of his mother’s career, but he knew how to charm people and work a room all the same.

His gaze skipped over Steve.

“Of course, darling,” President Barnes said. She got to her feet and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

There seemed to be real affection between them, from her grip on his shoulders to the way Barnes swayed into her and leaned down for her kiss.

Steve supposed it was possible for a mother to love her son and to also use him as a political maneuvering piece.

He frowned.

“Sergeant Barnes.”

Barnes stepped away from his mother, looked over his shoulder at Steve, and didn’t bother to look anything other than irritated.

It made Steve like him, even more than he already had.

“I was hoping you would show me that book.”

Barnes’s eyebrows drew together in momentary confusion, but then smoothed out as he cocked his head to the side and stared down at Steve.

And then he shrugged.

“Of course. It’s in my room, if you don’t mind a tour of the Residence.”

Steve got to his feet, offered his farewells and thanks to the table in case - in the hope - that they would leave while he was otherwise occupied.

He followed Barnes from the room, down a series of halls and up a series of staircases, more halls, and eventually, they arrived in a large room that Steve recognized by the famous window as the living area of the White House.

They were alone here, Secret Service agents posted outside the Residence but not within, and Barnes stopped beside a closed door and gave Steve a long, measuring look.

“Giving you a suckjob wouldn’t be any kind of favor, and sure as shit wouldn’t be out of pity,” Steve said, because it was clear Barnes wanted, needed, something from him. “It’d be a pleasure. Maybe a favor  _ for _ me.”

Barnes’s lips twitched.

“You don’t gotta lay it on so thick. I’m a sure thing, Captain.”

“Steve.”

“Bucky.”

Steve tried the name out, letting his mouth shape around it. Barnes - Bucky - watched. His gaze turned dark.

“Alright, Bucky. Can I blow you?”

Bucky huffed out a laugh, lips curving up and revealing a dimple in his left cheek and feathered creases around his eyes. It was a damn good look on him.

“Yeah, Steve. You can blow me.”

Bucky opened the door and gestured for Steve to proceed him into the room before following him and closing and locking the door.

The room looked like a very nice hotel room - large bed with plush furnishings, immaculate couch, dresser, desk, chairs, closed doors that likely led to a bathroom and closet. There was no personality to the place, and no evidence whatsoever that anyone lived there, let alone Bucky.

Steve hated it.

Bucky laughed and knocked his shoulder against Steve’s.

“Never had any reason to have my own place while I was in the Army. And you’re not allowed to knock the place until you’ve had the pleasure of spending a night sleeping on this cloud of a mattress.”

“I’m staying the night?” Steve asked, because he was an idiot.

Bucky lifted one shoulder.

“Up to you.”

Steve nodded, but couldn’t quite let go of the idea… the weight of that kind of thing.

He hadn’t spent the  _ night _ with anyone in…

Fuck, had he ever? Girls on the War Bonds tour didn’t count. Nor did soldiers during the war. And he’d never managed more than a few hours with Peggy, or Howard.

Steve had to force the memories away and looked over at Bucky, at his soft, dark lips and his stormcloud eyes, and his so very sharp jaw.

“May I?” Steve asked, and gestured towards Bucky’s belt.

Bucky swallowed hard, nodded, and Steve went down to his knees.

“Aw, fuck,” Bucky moaned, and his hands were immediately in Steve’s hair, fingers digging down to Steve’s scalp.

_ When was the last time Steve had  _ touched _ someone? _

Outside of a fight?

Outside of hauling a teammate’s body off the battlefield?

He tipped his head up, wanting more contact, and Bucky provided it, fingers alternately smoothing and tugging, and it was damned distracting and damned perfect.

But Steve was a man on a mission.

He reached for Bucky’s fly and worked open the placket to reveal tight black briefs and the bulge of Bucky’s half-hard dick.

Steve swallowed back a moan and pressed his face to the warm, soft fabric. He drew in a breath - laundry detergent and soap and sex and  _ Bucky _ .

Fuck, that was good.

He opened his lips over the bulge, mouthed along the shape until Bucky’s fingers tightened and Steve heard him draw in an unsteady breath.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, Steve,” Bucky growled.

Steve felt his cheeks heat from the praise. He wanted to melt into Bucky - his warmth, his confidence, his smell. His taste.

Steve worked the briefs down, until Bucky was standing there in a white dress shirt, black tie, black suit jacket and had his trousers and briefs tangled around his angles with his socks and dress shoes.

He didn’t care, and Bucky didn’t seem to either.

So Steve licked along the length of Bucky’s hardening dick and gripped one globe of his tight, firm ass with one hand and held onto Bucky’s hip with the other.

Bucky’s pelvis surged forward, probably involuntarily, when Steve finally took the head of Bucky’s dick into his mouth.

“Fuck. Yes. You’re so- Fuck, that’s good, Steve.”

For all that Bucky had been silent during dinner, getting his dick out seemed to be the key to getting him to talk.

His words were relentless as Steve sucked his dick. Praise and filthy commentary that went right to Steve’s groin. He felt heat pool low and intense in his belly. His own dick was hard enough to be damn near painful.

But he kept his focus on Bucky, working him up, tongue and lips and a very gentle application of teeth and-

“Fuck, Steve. Stevie, I’m-”

Bucky tried to pull him back, but Steve stayed in place, determined to swallow, and Bucky conceded with a wounded sound and a stuttering few thrusts of his hips before he spilled deep in Steve’s mouth and throat.

It took Bucky a few moments to pull himself together, to go from nearly pulling Steve’s hair out, his grip was so tight, to taking a stumbling few steps back and kicking free of his clothes.

Steve stayed on his knees and watched while Bucky undressed, shirt and tie and jacket flung into a careless pile with the rest of his clothes.

Bucky sat on the bed, pushed back until he was resting against the headboard, surrounded by pillows, on full display for Steve.

There were scars.

Three months of being a hostage, of being the son of the president and a soldier to boot, had all but guaranteed that Bucky wouldn’t have an easy time of it.

But Bucky- 

His legs were sprawled wide, his face and chest flushed and his eyes dark and hooded. He looked like a young god, debauched and ready to be worshipped.

And Steve was desperate to worship him.

He licked his lips and got to his feet.

Bucky watched him as Steve pulled on his tie, loosening it and letting it fall to the floor.

“Tell me more about this cloud of a mattress I’m gonna be sleepin’ on,” he said.

Bucky’s grin was blinding.

-o-

  
  



End file.
